


A Little Less Conversation

by poisontaster



Series: Every Broken Thing [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2006-07-06
Updated: 2006-07-06
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set a few days after the "Every Broken Thing: Coda".  Sam and Dean are still figuring out their sex life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Less Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> This story was previously published as two ficlets, "A Little Less Conversation" and "And So to Bed".

The problem is that it's been _days_. Sam has _needs_ , dammit.

The problem is that he's used to Dean sort of…taking matters in hand. At least after he's made Sam beg a bit. But Dean hasn't made a move and after all but promising Dean that it's the two of them forever, Sam feels he shouldn't have to beg.

The problem is Dean, poring over Dad's journal and chewing on his pen like he does, which is just fucking _cruel_.

But Sam? Sam is a problem- _solver_.

Off with his shirt. Off with his T-shirt. Boots pushed off and placed neatly on his side of the bed. Lube's already there, under his pillow, because Sam's getting laid tonight, one way or another. And then it's over to Dean.

"Hey. Look at this…whoa!" Dean rears back a little when Sam straddles his lap, locks both hands around the back of Dean's neck and pushes Dean's jaw back with his thumbs. He locks his teeth over Dean's jugular and sucks hard, throwing in a little teeth for good measure. "Oh…god _damn_ , Sam…" Dean groans, his hands locking on either side of Sam's rocking hips.

The wonderful thing about Dean is that he's not stupid and he doesn't look a gift fuck in the mouth. One hand scratches from the base of Sam's spine to between his shoulders, dragging goose bumps and shocking pleasure from Sam's skin and the other, still bunched in Sam's jeans, tugs him in closer.

"I get to do this now," Sam mutters against Dean's skin. He pulls back and regards the mark he left with deep satisfaction. It's dark and already purpling up; it's going to hurt like a bitch for days. He smiles and turns his attention to the other side of Dean's neck. "I get to have you."

Dean huffs a fake sigh. "Always with the talking, Sam." He shoves Dad's journal off the table, pushes suddenly _up_ and Sam finds himself flat on his back on the table top.

Now this is more like it.

"God, Sam, for someone with such a stick up his ass about my sex life, you're kind of a slut," Dean says, making quick work of Sam's belt and zipper while his teeth and tongue find new and interesting places on Sam's neck and shoulders.

"Always with the talking, Dean," Sam parrots back at him and is rewarded with Dean's grin, the hot, mischievous one where the tip of his tongue presses pinkly through his teeth. Sam draws his feet up and plants them, then lifts his hips to wriggle out of his remaining clothes. "Besides, I _am_ your sex life and that's _not_ what I'm hoping to have up my ass."

The table creaks ominously and looking down at Sam sprawled out on its surface—Sam spreads his legs a little bit, liking the heat of that gaze on him—Dean says, "Tempting as that sight is, I think we should move somewhere that's not going to break into splinters and collapse when I fuck you stupid."

Sam groans and his cock gives a hard, jerking shiver, but he lets Dean haul him up. They crash into each other and then Dean's suddenly wrapped around him, angling up into Sam's mouth like he wants to devour him and his hands gripping Sam's ass so tight Sam wonders if he's going to be bruised in the shape of Dean's hands afterwards. And then he wonders why that is _so fucking hot_?

Slow, controlled thrusts of Dean's hips, Dean's cock, against his and Sam's shuddering and whining, clutching the back of Dean's head, the small of Dean's back. "C'mon," he says—begs—around Dean's mouth. "C'mon, c'mon…" Dean's shaking too, subcutaneous vibrations, and Sam's loving it, loves that he's the one that can make Dean lose his much vaunted cool, loves that Dean's _in this_ , right there with him.

"Mine," he growls, biting Dean's lip so hard he can taste blood and then sucking it away, feeling where his teeth broke the skin. Dean grunts and pushes against Sam harder, more frantic.

"Mine," Dean agrees, giving no quarter and taking none. His hand slips lower, blunt fingertips stroking hard against the skin between Sam's balls and ass, pressing and grinding until Sam thinks every droplet of blood in his body has relocated permanently to his dick. He retaliates by closing his hand around their cocks, spreading the thick wetness of them both over hard, hot skin and stroking slow and firm until Dean's the one moaning into Sam's mouth, hips and the hand between Sam's legs rocking to the rhythm _Sam's_ set. "Bed," Dean rumbles, scraped out and harsh. _"Bed."_

It's an order Sam's more than happy to take. They don't even really _move_ , just kind of tip sideways in a tangle of bone and sharp edges, fighting their way towards the headboard without actually letting go of each other. Well, Sam does. He lets go of Dean exactly long enough to fish the bottle of lube out from under his pillow and coat Dean's fingers and his own. 

Then it's right back to it, epic battles of taut, flexing thighs and rock hard arms and clashing lips. Sam's not sure how victory is determined here, because if it all goes well, they should both end up unable to move, empty and spent, but he's more than willing to give it his best Winchester try, the two of them rolling and tussling across the mattress and into the headboard. He bangs his elbow into the nightstand, flailing when Dean gets two of those thick, dexterous fingers into him, both at once; Dean almost puts his eye out against the spur of Sam's knee when Sam reaches down to grip and stroke him with glistening sticky fingers.

They both laugh between the gasps and bitten off _fuck_ s and then Sam moans, long and loud—like potentially get them arrested loud—when Dean's cock slip-grinds into him. 

"Dude, _shut up_." Dean puts his hand over Sam's mouth, but he's laughing softly and his hips keep rocking slow and deep.

Sam's eyes narrow and he tightens and arches around Dean, sucking Dean's fingers into his mouth at the same time until Dean curses and whimpers, eyes shutting. 

No more talking or laughing then. Sam feels like he's going to either have an aneurysm or shake apart every time Dean swivels his hips and teases that sweet spot inside him and he can tell Dean's not far off it either, thighs shaking on every stroke and his voice just fucking shattering on every moan, muffled only slightly against the hot, slick skin of Sam's neck.

"Dean," he pleads, bringing his thighs tight against Dean's undulating sides and fisting his hand in his brother's short hair. "Dean…"

"Here," Dean mutters into him. "I'm right here."

And he is. Sam comes; aching bursts that almost _hurt_ it's so good and he can feel Dean, right there with him, wet and hot and solid as the earth itself. Right there with him. All the way.


End file.
